


Not Just One of Your Many Toys

by HurricanErin



Category: Chris Evans - Fandom, Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Ransom Is Not a Class Act, Smut, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:00:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22209049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HurricanErin/pseuds/HurricanErin
Summary: Ransom and Olivia have been thorns in each other’s sides for fifteen years.  They’ve tolerated one another, coaxed each other through major milestones, and trampled on one another’s hearts.  After years spent healing from one of Ransom’s toxic lashings, Olivia finds herself subpoenaed by the Drysdale family as a character witness for his criminal trial.  Their son is out of control, and the one person with the best chance of getting through to him wants absolutely nothing to do with the man.
Relationships: Ransom Drysdale & Original Female Character(s), Ransom Drysdale/Original Female Character(s), Ransom Drysdale/Reader, Ransom Drysdale/You
Comments: 33
Kudos: 88





	Not Just One of Your Many Toys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That one time Ransom and Olivia became aware of each others' existences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Listen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8SeRU_ZPDkE). Or kick it [retro](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JDUjeR01wnU).  
> 

****

**Boston, 2005**

There has never been a moment in my life that I haven’t known exactly who Ransom Drysdale is. We met in the fall of 2005, right after my dad was promoted with General Electric and my family had moved to Boston from Puerto Rico for his new job. I was 13 and Ransom was 19, and I could’ve told you within 5 minutes of enduring his company that he was a playboy and a Grade A narcissist. 

My parents and his mom, the legendary Linda Drysdale, had closed on our new house the week before. When my papá had mentioned to our realtor that he had 6 engineer brothers and sisters in PR also looking to move to the Boston area, Linda immediately swooped in and took over the sale. We had moved into the new house for two days when who showed up on our doorstep with a giant Harry and David gift basket on his mother’s behalf? Ransom. I’ve never seen my mom so taken with a man so quickly. It was absolutely nauseating. 

My mom and I had been sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast with my little brother when Ransom waltzed in, ruining our meal. While he charmed my mom, I shooed Gian from the table, stuffed him into his coat and boots and shoved his toast into his hand. 

"You’re gonna miss your bus, _vete_ ,” I said with an affectionate push.

He waved me off, but I could see his smile as he scrambled out the door towards his friends. When I turned around, Mamá was on the phone, distractedly scribbling on a notepad at the center island. Ransom had seated himself at our table and was examining the gift basket. After retrieving a pear, he rearranged the treats so it looked as if nothing were missing. Catching my eye, he shot me a grin, took a bite of the fruit and flaunted it in front of me.

“Want some?”

My mom’s groan of frustration cut off my retort as she hung up. Without missing a beat, Ransom hid the pear behind his leg.

Clipping her beeper to the waist of her skirt, she motioned at my backpack. “Ol, you need to get your school stuff and hop in the car, I have to go to the hospital early. I need to drive you; school is on the way. A patient needs to go into surgery now.”

I scowled and put my hands on my hips. “I’m taking the bus with my friends. You said at this school I could!”

Already gathering her coat and keys, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, _mija_. Not today. Come on, we need to go. I can’t leave you alone at home for that long.”

My nose started to sting. I didn’t want to sit at school alone for an hour and have to explain to my new friends why I wasn’t on the bus like everyone else.

Carefully watching the interaction, Ransom cleared his throat. “Mrs. Santos, I would be happy to stay with her until her bus comes. I’m home on break from Yale for the week and would love nothing more than to get to know your daughter,” he offered, radiating charisma.

"Oh Ransom, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

"Honestly, our house is only a few streets away, so we’re practically neighbors. It would be no problem.”

She hesitated, glancing from Ransom to her watch. Back home, we didn’t have babysitters. Family played that role. I couldn’t imagine leaving her 13 year-old home alone with a strange man was high on her list of things to do in the US.

Ransom read the situation well. “Mrs. Santos, my girlfriend is just at my parents’. Why don’t I give her a call and the three of us can clean up the kitchen until…,” he motioned at me.

“Olivia,” I snipped.

He didn’t flinch. “Until Olivia’s bus comes,” he finished with a smile.

“I suppose… that would be alright,” Mamá agreed. “Your family is so kind!” Sighing in relief, she snagged me for a kiss goodbye and scurried towards the door. “Behave, Ol! I’ll see you at dinner,” she shouted over her shoulder.

I listened to the garage door close and turned to find him thumbing through the Harry and David catalogue while dabbing pear juice from his lips with a napkin. I glared at him for a minute.

“You and your mom are just being nice to my parents because I have a lot of aunts and uncles moving here,” I accused.

He looked up, laughing in surprise. Nodding his head to the side, he shrugged a shoulder, “You’re not wrong. Did they tell you that?”

“No, but I can tell.”

A soft _ping_ sounded and he patted his pockets, pulling out a phone from his jacket. He continued nibbling at the pear until all that was left was the core, then absently dumped it on my abandoned breakfast plate. I walked closer and peered at the screen in his hands while he typed furiously.

“Do you have any games on your phone?” I asked.

“This isn’t a phone, it’s a Blackberry.”

“Do you have any games on your Blackberry? Like Snake? My mom’s phone has Snake.”

“No, it doesn’t have Snake,” he snapped as he pulled a headset from his jacket pocket and plugged it into the headphone jack. Almost immediately it rang and he slipped the earpiece on, pushing me.

“Jackson?” He sighed at me in irritation and turned away. “Yeah, come up this weekend. They’re two Norwegian bitches, semi-professional skiers or something. Super hot. They’re in the US to train but stopping to vacation in New England or whatever.” He ran his finger along the wicker of the gift basket while he listened to his friend respond. With an exasperated sigh, he shook his head. “No, no, we don’t need to take them sailing for them to put out.”

I stared at him, my jaw dropping. I knew it was rude to both stare and eavesdrop, but I had never met anyone who was so blatantly awful.

“They’ll fuck us because I’m crazy rich, bro, don’t worry,” Ransom chuckled. He leaned back against the table and rolled his eyes as his friend prattled on, until his gaze landed on me. His eyes widened.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Jax, I’m not alone. I gotta go.”

He yanked the earpiece off and tossed it on the table, leaning towards me with his elbows on his knees. 

I scowled. “You don’t really have a girlfriend who’s coming over.”

“Olivia,” he said with a practiced smile that actually reached his beaming eyes. Ignoring my statement, he took me in for a moment, cataloguing my appearance as his gaze came to rest on my neck.

“That’s such a pretty necklace you’re wearing, did you pick it out yourself?”

My insides tingled a little. I didn’t _like-_ him-like-him or anything, but he did look like a prince and he had complemented the starfish necklace my parents had given me for my birthday last summer. It was my favorite.

“It was a present from my mom and dad, from when I turned 13 last year.”

“Christ,” he muttered under his breath. Something about me being a kid. I didn’t know what that meant, because he made an angry face. But that quickly went away and then his prince face was back.

“That was my friend Jackson on the phone,” he motioned at his Blackberry with his thumb, “We go to college together. We joke around a lot,” he chuckled, rubbing my shoulder. “You do that with your friends, too, right? Tell jokes, mess around?”

Confused and skeptical, I nodded.

“And you don’t always tell those jokes to your parents, because they don’t understand them. You keep them between you and your friends.”

I raised my brow, trying to look formidable. “You don’t want me to tell my mom what you were talking about.”

The friendliness in his expression melted away, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards instead. “Exactly.”

To this day, I wish I could say I stuck up for myself; that I told my mom how much of a jerk he was. How he was a deceptive, womanizing liar who didn’t deserve an ounce of our time. But, I didn’t. Instead, I stooped to Ransom’s level.

My family had money; my mom was a physician and my dad a senior engineer for GE. We lived very comfortably. We had spent several months in the US in an apartment before finding the house, during which they had been earning American salaries and making more than ever. But, both of my parents came from humble means, sent a lot of money back home to their own parents and grandparents, and did not appreciate the materialism I faced every day at the private school they sent me to.

And Ransom had… _a lot_ of money. He had made that clear over the phone. I’m not proud to admit that I requested the Tiffany heart tag bracelet I had seen other girls wearing at school in exchange for my silence. I’m even less proud that, after scoffing at my proposal, Ransom walked me right past the Tiffany & Co. on Newbury Street and in to Cartier and had me pick out a bracelet there instead. He said he hadn’t bought Tiffany for a girl since he was my age and that he wasn’t lowering himself. I still have the bracelet buried in my jewelry box, though I never put it on. Considering its origins, it feels dirty to wear, but I can’t bear to part with it.

**Boston, 2007**

In 2007, we found out my dad had a mistress. He had paid for her to move over from PR and had been supporting her in Boston for two years. That would’ve flown in PR, but in the US, my mom’s friends wouldn’t stand for it. (Especially the female divorce lawyer next door.) That was more or less the end of my dad’s presence in my life. There’s a chance he might walk me down the aisle one day, but that’s only if Mamá insists on a super Catholic wedding. 

My dad leaving didn’t affect me like it did my mom and Gian. I had my friends and tennis, but Gian was younger and quieter; he and my dad spent a lot of time with little robot projects and those LEGO sets and I could tell he missed him. Mamá was lonely at home, too; she and my dad had been together since high school. She had spent a lot of time taking care of him, despite her working 60 hour weeks.

A few of my dad’s sisters hung around as moral support, but Papá eventually pressured them until they stopped coming to see us. However, there was an additional isolated party within our vicinity who also needed a group of humans to latch onto; someone with the capacity to fill the role of both quasi-paternal figure ( _figure_ , not role model), and platonic spouse.

I’d seen Ransom with Mrs. Drysdale; at best, she spoiled her son. At worst, she placated him with money, demeaned and dismissed him. Even I didn’t appreciate how she treated him and most days I didn’t like him. After graduating last in his class from Yale, Ransom took the year off to get away from her. Not a normal “take the year off” where you travel to learn about yourself, or work, or anything like that. Instead, Ransom bought property in the Maldives and imported $500,000 worth of Dom Perignon—the Rose Gold kind—, and flew in ballerinas from Moscow while telling his mom he was joining the Peace Corps for a girl. When there was fraud on his black AmEx and he had to phone home for help, there was hell to pay when the call came from not Mongolia. Linda cut him off and kicked him out.

For six months, but still. This was Ransom.

My mother, bless her heart, would have absorbed all children needing a home if she could. And, though he was 21, Ransom definitely qualified as such a child. I honestly think Ransom needed the mothering, too. Growing up with a nanny paid to give you care is not a replication of a mother’s love, which he never had in the first place.

Ransom always showered Mamá with attention, asking how she was with utter sincerity while maintaining direct eye contact, thanking her for the work she did as a cardiac surgeon, and other general sycophantic niceties. I was terrified that would change for the worst after he moved in, despite their generous age gap. A freshly divorced woman could’ve been new prey for him. It wasn’t that she didn’t know who and what he was—she was under no illusions. But she had a soft spot for the broken bad boy with mommy issues and indulged him.

I watched him like a hawk when he was around her, but he never made a move. He certainly let her wait on him; she cooked him food from scratch and listened to him talk while she cleaned up the kitchen, but he was never salacious. I still give him props for that. It would have been an entertaining game for him, one he would’ve easily won. 

It helped that he was gone half the time. He still had his car, keys to the Hamptons house and access to his friends’ jets and properties. I’m pretty sure Richard was also slipping him $50k a month because Ransom rebuilt his wardrobe pretty quickly.

I will admit I was slightly… antagonistic towards him during the beginning of his time with us. I may have picked a few fights. He wanted to watch Sin City because of Jessica Alba; I wanted to watch the Corpse Bride. He left questionable-looking hair trimmings in the shower drain and you can bet I was pounding on his door. He gave me _that look_ when I thought I had dressed nicely, and I may or may not have launched myself at him. But, near the middle of his stay, we learned to co-exist, and even had some decent conversations. I chilled out when I saw how he was with Gian. 

I’m not sure Mamá ever officially asked Ransom to step up while he was living with us, I think the only conditions she had was that he tip the cleaning people an extra $150 for how bad his room was, not have his douchey friends over past 10pm, and no sleepovers with the opposite sex. But, it was obvious to everyone under our roof that Gian looked to Ransom for companionship. And, to my utter surprise, Ransom kind of delivered. He took Gian to the U.S. Open and up to Lake Champlain to golf a few times, and they’d hang out at the house when Ransom was home. 

Then, one day I heard him call Gian his charity project to his friends as they sat out on the porch. The second he came inside I punched him in the arm over that. The weirdest part about Ransom and his awful behavior is that he only kinds of means it. I mean, the idea was there, he had had the thought that Gian was less fortunate than him and needed his help. But I also know he genuinely loved my little brother and was making spending time with him out to be a bigger deal than it really was.

Six months to the day, Ransom had a moving company at our doorstep at 8am sharp. He only had a few hanging wardrobes worth of clothes to move into his new apartment; all of the furniture was being delivered by the dealer, but the man couldn’t lower himself to drive his own U-Haul. By that time, I had developed an appreciation for Ransom. It was kind of nice to have someone older to talk to, even though he had no conception of what real life was like. He was okay. I didn’t miss sharing a dwelling space with him, but I did kind of miss him.

**Boston, Fall 2009**

That fall, I was 18 and a senior at the Winsor School and Ransom was 25 and bullshitting his way through his Master’s of Science in Business Analytics at Princeton. I preferred not to ask questions regarding his attendance or grades. I figured the less I knew, the less I could be implicated in some scandal involving the university and bribery.

High school wasn’t a great time in my life. The kids at Winsor were spoiled and came from generations of overachievers. You could say there were a lot of Ransoms, I suppose; self-serving, arrogant, brutal, conceited, rich kids. I’m not saying I didn’t share some of those traits, I knew I was fortunate, but I liked to think I was a decent person. As a result, I was relatively lonely. I had the varsity tennis team, and that fit my basic need for socialization. But not once did I ever entertain the thought of a boyfriend.

As the years progressed, I waited for the mutual attraction for my peers to arrive. It never did. At that age, even if boys had adopted the air of sophistication they had seen modeled at home and had the ability to charm, they severely lacked in a different department, like intelligence or maturity. I shut down every advance without a second thought and didn’t look back.

Until, that is, my Senior year. As leaving home was becoming a reality, I decided I didn’t want to go to college a virgin. I just didn’t. _Things_ happen in college, things you don’t always have control over, and I liked control. I liked control very much. And I wanted to have control over when and how I gave it up. And I wasn’t giving it up to some 18 year old I had dated for a three months who couldn’t kiss and also didn’t have the experience to help me enjoy the process.

But I knew someone who did.

I smirked as a key sounded in the lock, Ransom had never given his back from a few years ago.

“Ol?” his voice echoed up the stairs.

“In the kitchen!”

The old stairs creaked as he ascended, heading straight for the refrigerator without even looking at me.

“Hey,” he nodded in greeting.

“Hey.” For the first time in my life, I was nervous talking to him. I’d texted him, asking if he could stop by, which wasn’t out of character. He usually popped in at least once a month to return a book, pick up a sweater he forgot that my mom had washed or have dinner with us. He lingered, even after moving out. The flight from Princeton to Boston was only an hour, and it meant a lot to Gian, to all of us, really, that Ransom still visited.

While Ransom dug through the fridge, pulling out some leftover _chorizo_ , I set about throwing together some protein smoothies for us. He had left a container of ridiculously expensive something something collagen protein at our house the last time he was there and it was expiring soon, so I split the remainder between us. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him fuss with the microwave.

I raised a brow. “You know how to use kitchen appliances?”

He took an exaggerated bite of a sausage slice. “Selectively,” he winked.

I bit my cheek to keep from laughing. Ransom’s “selective” helplessness didn’t need encouragement.

I think what we worked in was companionable silence, but I’m not positive. I was pretty geared up, so it was hard to tell. Settling at the table, I laid plates out for both of us, chewing my lip.

“I have a favor to ask.”

“I can’t get you into Yale early decision, but I can get you in,” he said as he reached for his smoothie.

I rolled my eyes. “I’ve already gotten into Brown on my own, which was my first choice, thank you. What I need is… different.”

“What is it? I’ve got cash with me.”

“Ransom! Listen to me. Just let me ask my question.”

“Okay!” he chuckled, his eyes gleaming as he swirled his glass.

“Okay,” I repeated, my heart pounding in my chest. I made myself look him in the eye. All of a sudden I wanted to cry? What if he said no? What if he laughed? What if he never talked to me again?

“Ol, you’re getting pale. You look like you’re about to ask me to skin a cat.”

“Shut up,” I grumbled, seconds away from losing my nerve. I inhaled deeply, folding my hands on the table in front of me and sitting up straight.

“Ransom,” I began.

“Olivia,” he countered, his face comically serious.

“I want you to take my virginity. Now that I’m 18—.”

“Hah—You what? No you don’t, Olivia, you don’t—.”

“I do.”

“Ehhhh,” he made a pained face and shook his head. “I mean, what do you mean by _virgin_? What have you done before?”

“Nothing.”

“But you’ve given head though, right?”

I tried to mask my embarrassment with a look of disdain.

When Ransom gaped in surprise, I kicked him under the table.

“A handjob?”

“I said _nothing_ ,” I bit out.

The corner of his mouth pulled upward and he tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “What about like… getting off with each other?”

I shook my head. 

“Sexting?”

“There’s no one I want to sext.”

He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“But like…”

“I’ve never touched or been touched, Ransom. I’ve never seen a man naked, okay?”

He sighed. “I don’t do virgins. It’s a personal policy. Especially someone like you who has absolutely no experience.”

That stung, but I kept trying. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No—.”

“Are you dating anyone?”

“Ol, I don’t date—.”

“Ransom, this is exactly the type of arrangement you want!” I hissed.

“This should be something you do with a boyfriend, someone your age who you care about and who cares about you.”

I groaned and stormed into the living room, plopping into an easy chair. 

“I don’t want a boyfriend. I’m going to Brown in the fall, so dating someone now would be pointless. And in Providence, between Chi Omega, studying, volunteering, and AMSA, I just won’t have time for a relationship.”

Ransom couldn’t suppress a laugh as he tailed after me. “You’re as heartless as I am.”

“I’m not heartless,” I argued. “I’m practical.”

He gave me a patronizing smile. “You’ve never done this before, you don’t know how you’ll feel afterwards. It’s sex. Girls get attached. I just can’t do that, babe.”

“You can! Ransom, you can. I won’t get attached. I’ll leave you alone after. I won’t text you for a month. Please? I—,” my cheeks flamed as I looked down at my hands. Bickering and bantering with Ransom was easy. Acting like I disliked him was easy. But being vulnerable with him? That was terrifying. “I want it to be you,” I whispered. “I don’t trust anyone else.”

With a sigh, he perched on the arm of my chair.

“I’m going back to Princeton on Sunday. Even if we did it tonight, we wouldn’t have 48 hours together.”

“I don’t care!” I slapped the seat of the chair. “What if—what if I get roofied and lose it to some guy and don’t even remember it? Or—or someone, you know… one in every four women faces sexual assault in college…”

That perpetual, devious gleam in Ransom’s eyes disappeared. Something brutal and vicious replaced it.

“I’d kill him. I’d kill anyone who touched you like that.”

My chest tightened. I’d never seen him that serious before, not even when he argued with his mom. It was a little terrifying. But, I had carried pepper spray on me for years since moving to the city and I already knew my parents were sending me to college with a SipChip, not that I’d be going to parties anyway. I tried another angle.

“I know I’m not the girls you normally sleep with—blonde, white, with yachts and horses and trust funds—

Darkness cast over his face.

“Olivia,” he interrupted. Brow creasing, Ransom lifted his hand near my face, then hesitated. With a growl, he cupped my jaw. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, brushing the knuckle of the opposite hand against my cheek. “And trust funds are so mundane.”

I rose from the chair and leaned against his leg. “Then why don’t you want me?” It took everything in me to keep my voice from breaking.

Ransom shifted uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Ol, I’ve known you since you were a kid. I can’t—I just don’t see you that way.”

“You still see me as a child?”

“I guess, yeah.”

Butterflies flapped madly in my belly, but I held my breath and stepped forward between his legs until our chests were pressed together, trapping my hand between us at his groin. Praying that I applied what I had read correctly, I timidly felt for his cock. He grunted when I wrapped my hand around the outline of its shape and followed it with a shy stroke.

“I am _not_ a child,” I husked in my best seductress voice.

“You said you’d never touched or been touched,” he accused through clenched teeth.

Both proud and embarrassed, I ducked my head. “I don’t like entering a situation unprepared. I read a lot and watched some videos.” Realizing the implications of my statement, I turned beet red. “For research, I mean!”

That earned me a genuine smile. Sliding one hand around my waist he pulled me closer, then used the other to firmly guide my palm over his half erect cock, rubbing it back and forth. I blushed as I felt him harden under my fingers.

“What else did you research?”

“Stuff,” I mumbled.

Rubbing his thumb along my hipbone, his gaze fell to his lap, watching my hand work over his erection. Then his eyes deviated to my front, trailing up my belly to my chest, which was, admittedly, heaving, and slowly made their way to my face. Looking someone in the eye had never made me clench down there before. It was unexpected, but not unappreciated.

I could see Ransom thinking, his eyes flicking back and forth between mine as he reasoned with himself.

"You need to think this over, you need to really consider what you’re asking me and decide that’s what you want,” he murmured, his voice rough.

My pussy throbbed at the sound, and it took extra concentration not to let my eyes close.

“When have I ever made a rash decision about something this important? I started thinking about this a year ago.”

He exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “Of course you did.”

When his hips gave an involuntary thrust against my palm, he gently pulled my wrist away.

“That’s enough for now.”

Tears pricked at the corner of my eyes. “Did I do it wrong? Is that a no?”

He massaged his closed eyelids with his index finger and thumb, exhaling shakily. “It should be a no. A good man would say no.” 

Drawing me against him once more, I whimpered as he ground his cock against my belly. “But I’ve never been a good man, have I, Olivia?”

He didn’t give me an opportunity to respond. The kiss was firm, but delicate. No tongues or biting or slipping or sliding, just lips pressed together, gently massaging. When he sucked at my lower lip I surprised both of us with a soft moan, causing him to bury his hand in my hair and tilt my head for better access.

I completely lost track of everything, because the next moment of consciousness I had was gasping for air as he pulled away. My fingers were tangled in his hair, my hand clutching his sweater like it was a lifeline, and his thigh was situated between both of mine, applying pressure to my clit that was making me see stars. Now my mouth was wet, but I didn’t care.

Once I could see straight, I dove for his mouth again, but he stopped me with an unyielding grip on my chin.

"Change,” he rumbled. “We’ll go to dinner at Menton, I’ll pull some strings and get us a table. Then back to my apartment.”

I squinted, still reeling from the kiss. “We’re not going to Menton first, that makes it sound like a date. This isn’t a date, we have one mission to accompli—.”

He gaze grew cold. “If we do this, we’re doing it my way. You’re going to listen to me. I’m in charge.”

My eyes flicked back and forth between his as my entire face and neck glowed pink. 

“Okay,” I whispered.

"Say ‘Yes, sir,’” he corrected me.

“Yes, sir,” I repeated softly.

The pleased smile that spread across his lips gave me a warm feeling in my belly.

“Tonight, I’m going to destroy your pussy,” he whispered against my ear, sucking at my lobe, “I’m going to make you come like a whore.” Moving to my other side, he spoke softly again, his warm breath against my cheek making me shiver. “Your future husband will resent me for the rest of your lives, because I’m going to ruin you for any other man.” Nuzzling my nose with the tip of his, he kissed the corner of my mouth. “And you’re going to love it.”

I couldn’t help myself. I was throbbing, there was pressure building in my belly and the man had barely laid a hand on me. With a high pitched whimper, I sought his mouth again, but he wrapped his huge hand around my throat and shook his head as he held me back.

“Go. Pick out something nice to wear. Something you feel pretty in.”

Mouth dry, I nodded. He caught my arm as I went to leave.

“And Olivia? Not a scrap of clothing underneath.”


End file.
